


Damaged Goods

by soupysoop



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Descriptions of gore, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, deadly class au, keith and lance are both assassins in training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17283692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupysoop/pseuds/soupysoop
Summary: “I didn’t crash the bike”“I didn’t run my mouth.”Keith, Lance and King's Alfor Atelier of the Deadly Arts





	Damaged Goods

**Author's Note:**

> well I forced down the Deadly Class pilot ep, decided to start reading the comic and then wrote this fic all in one night
> 
> the song lyrics dispersed randomly through this whole thing are the song's playing from the tattoo parlor they're outside of btw i never actually specify that in the text...whoopsies

The feeling of asphalt underneath the palms of his hands stings. Bluntly sharp textures pressing into shallow cuts, feeling like a cool, sloppy kiss on the skin. the sensation is uniquely grounding.

 

_Brandy, your fine a girl, what a good wife you would be!_

 

There's something so fantastically cinematic about looking up at the bright red and yellow and pink neon sign above him, up against a dusky, light polluted night sky. The city makes the black look like a sickly yellow. Something so HBO about that.

 

Lance’s head is clear, not even sort of pounding with the usual headache or trauma. His ribs ache, his leg’s are in pain, his back feels impossibly torn up, but he isn’t stressed. Too blessed!

 

Blood is caked and clotting under his nose, he can’t breathe through his nostrils. But the gash between his eyebrows stopped gushing, starting to dry over like corn syrup. His eyes aren’t swollen up with new blood vessel breaking bruises. Simply, his body is pleasantly burning to death under the impossibly frigid January 11 o'clock weather.

 

_But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea!_

 

The familiar sound of heavy soled boots shuffle through the ringing in his ears - he hadn't noticed they'd been ringing.

 

A bloodied, half-gloved hand shoots down and roughly tugs him up from the ground to his feet, pushing his sagging body backwards.

 

Lance takes a second for his beautifully, oscar worthy world to stop spinning, knees buckling and hands waving in front of him.

 

“Kogane…” his voice cracks, pitched high.

 

Keith’s hair somehow still looks kick ass despite the fact his left canine is missing and blood is smeared darkly all around his mouth, looking like a small beard and mustache. funny. It got all over the frenchy black and white striped shirt he’s wearing under that leather jacket of his. The right side of his face is all beat up, blooming with reds and purples and fresh cuts, eye swollen closed so big it looks like something is trying to push its way out. But his hair, god damn, it looks great.

 

“Lance.” He sounds ticked off.

 

Frowning, Lance starts padding his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, depressed anxiety blooming within him briefly. Pulling the pack out, they’re soggy, crushed. He picks one out regardless, noticing his hands are shaking. His fingers are stiff, failing to turn the light on. Despite the burning of his body, it’s probably a 15 degree night. Feet are cold too, real cold. Four year old converse sneakers don’t fair well in winter temperatures during high stake situations. The fronts of his legs are numb, ears burning bitterly. It's almost hard to blink. 

 

Keith’s always got his stupid shit kicker’s on, probably not feeling the cold at all. Maybe his gay ripped skinny jeans are letting the chill in, but those nasty scrapes are bleeding warm fluid all over them, so maybe not. His one eye is set hard on him, staring. Ice hard.

 

Anyone at the academy will tell you,  _‘boy oh boy, that Keith Kogane, he’s one hot rod. That boy is on fire,_ ” But Lance, with that icey stare on him, can't agree with the sentiment. Keith’s hot in the tsunami way, he’s the fire in an electrical storm hot. He’s lightening hot. He’s a face burning with frostbite in a severe snow storm. He's the bitter stinging of Lance's thigh's right now. Keith’s standing in this winter weather looking stronger than ever. He is one _icy_ dude. 

 

The cigarette finally lights, sagging from his mouth wetly. It’s hard to make eye contact with a guy with currently one eye, so Lance looks up to find that those pretty cinematic neon lights were for a tattoo parlor. _Tattoos, piercing, barber shop_.

 

“You think I’d look fly with green hair?” he asks through teeth clenched around the cigarette filter, hand running across his scalp. Lance notices there’s a open wound on the back of his head.

 

Keith doesn’t answer. Instead, his body tightens up, fists clench, jaw beginning to grind back and forth. Why’s he so pissed? Nobody gives Keith’s narcissism enough credit.

 

Lance feels his mouth twist into a smirk, numb, cold cheeks stretching with effort. He looks at Keith with his hand on top of his head, neck cocking to the side from dizziness and habit.

 

“What?” he takes a couple steps forward. He can barely feel his legs. “Can’t take it when you can’t keep something down?”

 

Keith sneers brutally, teeth bloody. It makes Lance’s face sharply hurt with a smile, realizing now that his nose is broken.

 

“No.”

 

Ice cold.

 

“ _Icey._ ”

 

Keith’s hands shoot out, grabbing Lance by the jacket and roughly dragging him in close. His feet drag as his knees give out, Keith snorts out of huff of air through his nose. Some snotty blood lands on Lance’s face, and he laughs a laugh that cracks into a cackle. 

 

Keith clenches his jaw even tighter.

 

_Your kiss so sweet, your sweat so sour._

 

Oh good lord, Lance’s life is a fucking movie.

 

“What's wrong?” It comes out with a breath of smoke in Keith’s face, the cigarette falls and lands between their feet. You know, up this close up, Keith should really pluck his eyebrows.

 

_You said you're cheap, but you're too much!_

 

Keith got in because he’s a killer. His mom was some crazy bitch, part of a freaky ass cult/gang thing. Blade something or another. Super important, but Lance got a D in history. She’s dead. His dad some dude, dead. Keith had this brother, nobody knew who he was. Dead, got himself killed.

 

Keith’s got a fancy knife, he comes with skills just like a swiss army knife!

 

He tried to get away from his mom’s life, and he couldn’t. People been trying to kill him since he was 13, and he had to survive that. The dude was a trained mother fucking murderer before he entered the academy, born a killer, destined to use that fancy, purple knife on throats. Destined to be left in the gutter to grow rougher.

 

He didn’t have anything, so he made _this_ his everything.

 

First day, Keith beat the absolute life out of James. Couldn’t get back those front teeth, dad wouldn't waste those hard earned government dollaroonies on it. His first week, nobody could look Keith in the eye. That boy is _fire_ , they say.

 

Lance got in because he lit his parent’s mansion on fire. And, more apparently and relevantly, because they’re mobsters. Seemed like a punishment of sorts at first when he got kicked out and enrolled. Blessing in disguise.

 

Point to be made; Lance didn’t get along with Keith and Keith didn’t give a fuck about Lance, at first. While Keith was a naturally made, non-GMO slaughterer, Lance had to work at the whole brutal murder thingy-ma-bob.

 

The trick is that he just didn’t let up. A persistent fucker - he can admit that's what he is. All the fear and self loath that runs through his blood like a snakes venom spitefully fuels him to not puke his guts out when he looks down at the splattered brains of some stupid ass money launderer.

 

Stomping on the cig, not looking down, Keith grips Lance’s jacket tighter. His lips pouting briefly before ripping into a sinister scowl.

 

“What’s _wrong_ is that you’re a fucking idiot, McClain.”

 

The adrenaline that sparks through Lance’s body makes him wanna scream and tear at his hair like a deranged monkey. He feels the whites of his eyes go red, probably. Hysteria dances across his face briefly before he barks out a high pitched laugh into Keith’s wide eye(d), furious, pretty boy face.

 

Keith curses in frustration and shoves him back, Lance stumbling backwards while clutching his sides in pain and giggles. Keith's shaking with anger, and before Lance can even say, _‘i know what i am, but what are you!’_ , that fancy, stupid purple sword is pointed right at this throat.

 

“Do you ever stop fucking up and _shut up_?”

 

Lance gawks before playfully pushing the blade to the side with his finger pointed. Shit, It’s so hard to close his hand into a fist. He needs to remind himself to wear gloves next murder quest.

 

“Don’t bring a sword to a gun fight, buddy-” He reaches for his back... Oh. His gun probably fell out when he was flung off the motorcycle. That’ll be quite a find for whoever comes across it.

 

His pause makes Keith cruelly smile.

 

“Dumb ass.”

 

Another pang of anxious depression rushes into Lance’s body, and he frowns. Suddenly, the bangs and dings on his body hurt. He’s fucking cold.

 

“You can’t act like I’m the only fuck up in this.”

 

Keith rolls his eyes, well, eye, sheathing his sword.

 

“Sure”

 

“I didn’t crash the bike”

 

“I didn’t run my mouth.”

 

The wound on the back of Lance’s head, it’s making him dizzy. The red and yellow neon lighting on Keith right now, he looks like a total devil babe, and his evil tongue can’t say anything to Lance that Lance hasn’t already hissed at himself today. Check mate.

 

_Crack that whip!_

 

“Agree to disagree”

 

Keith scowls, “ _sure.”_

 

_I say whip it whip it! Whip it good!_

 

He's pacing now, pinching the bridge of his nose, grumbling to himself.

 

“How the fuck are we getting back to the dorms? We’re miles away, my ride is fucked, I can’t walk with my leg’s like this-”

 

“Call a cab?” Lance starts walking towards Keith, who glares even harder at him. The blood around his mouth is starting to look black. Lance wonder's why he hasn't licked it off yet.

 

“You got a phone?”

 

Lance dumbly pats at his jacket pocket, finding nothing, not bothering to spare a glance down.

 

“Uh, nope.”

 

Keith’s exasperated sigh huffs out into the freezing air, looking like smoke. Keith hates Lance's smoking. He keeps walking forward.

 

“Dude, listen, chill out. Let’s just ask this tattoo parlor to use their phone, get ‘llura to pick us up, we could even get matching tattoos while we wait.” Lance laughs, Keith frowns.

 

Point to be made; Lance didn’t get along with Keith, and Keith didn’t give a shit about Lance, for a while. But the thing is, they make a good team. A great team. Keith can’t work well with others, and others cant work well with Lance. So they’re together, stuck. And they suck so magnificently. They fuck up so _good_. Lance swears everyone else is jealous.

 

He thinks they’re alike, more than Keith would like to admit. Alike in that they feel more grounded during days like this - when their bleeding wounds are slowly infecting under their jackets and they have a floating rib or two.

 

He reaches out for Keith’s face, to touch that gnarly scar on his left cheek. Some students say his mom gave it to him, others are for sure it was the cult, like an initiation thing that he had to go through. Katie think’s it’s something more sad. Lance reaches out to push his thumb against it, but Keith’s hand shoots up, aggressively grabbing Lance’s wrist, halting it from moving any further. His face strict and eye wide. He looks startled.

 

Lance’s smile grows.

 

“I’ll get fire, and you’ll get _ice_.”

 

Keith holds eye contact, narrows his gaze, lip jutting with his jaw pushing forward in a brief, angry under bite. He tosses Lance’s arm down and looks away.

 

“Stop fucking around.”

 

He limps into the parlor, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. When Lance doesn’t follow immediately, he angrily slaps on the glass from the inside a couple times, mouthing _‘come on’_ angrily.

 

Lance think’s he’ll ask the dude in there if he has any dry cigarettes, and then tease Keith for blushing.

**Author's Note:**

> songs referenced in order:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVx8L7a3MuE  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cvs4_60zvTo  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwkLYLOe4U0
> 
> leave a kudos if u liked and if ur feeling extra smexy leave a comment 💗


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